Thursday, May 15, 2008

dear reader

It's been fun. Really it has. For me, too.

But we need to spend some time apart.

The material balance of our relationship needs to be readjusted.
Less ink on the page and more grammar and structure and layout,
to be followed by some type of physical production.

That's the purpose here, really, though you may not be able to tell.
Grist for the mill that has no financial outcome, but there are several calls for entry for artist's books that won't be responded to unless, well, there suddenly appears an artist book to submit.

So there might be pictures or random observations, but a hiatus on written material until early July.

Yes, I'll think of you fondly.



reading Fowler's Modern English Usage
weather there is a scent which I associate with early summer in New England, a combination of new grass, newly mown, and the freshness of trees after the rain, and a background of flowers and cars and, well, summer. It's almost here.

est arrivé!

So much promise hides in the unsorted nooks of the spring book sale, where futures are sold for under a dollar, each volume seducing the buyer with an escape into another self. Teddy's Party is the birthday party always desired; The Tale of the Body Thief activates the otherwise sedate life of the beautician; mothers buy new offerings in bulk, hoping to buy a few moments of peace, into which they can squeeze stolen tastes of The Joy Luck Club.

How many people will buy a book they already know, grasping at a past they remember and desire to recapture, a sense of loss fulfilled by replacing a missing Latin dictionary or Reader's Digest Complete Home Repair? Pies Made Easy will ensure Thanksgivings to remember; and A Villa in Tuscany keeps the dream alive.

reading Learning to Love You More
weather the gorgeousness of May: cocktails and early suntans and bliss

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

seven for fourteen

There is a monster who lives under the bed. He has a name, but he becomes angry when I use it, and he becomes even more angry if he thinks I've shared his name with an outsider, a visitor, a stranger. So, in deference to my monster, you won't learn his name, he is just the monster under the bed.

I don't know if he is the same monster that has always lived under my particular bed, if he has grown and moved with me, keeping tabs on the who's and wheres of my existence. I don't know if he would rather live in the closet or under the dresser or in the pipes of the radiator; and, if he would prefer one of these other residences, I don't know why he remains the monster under the bed. I don't know how I know that he is a he, and I can't recall when he transitioned from scary monster under the bed to indifferent monster under the bed to companionable monster under the bed.





reading:
"what makes us "human"?
heavy hearted
in the fresh light of morning
insomnia
something my parents had that I don't
no help for it now
...'There's a personal wisdom to strive for, apart from learning new ways with language.' [Mary Jo Salter]"

weather windy with a chance of summer

Saturday, May 10, 2008

new beginnings


Shake the magic-8 ball of answers. Please try again. Try again. Not sure. Try again. It is certain.

Personalities remain malleable until the age of thirty. The past is not the future. Fate is note written in the stars. God doesn't engage.

Roll the dice. Accept the seven and then take account of all that can be created in, around, and through the four dots and the three dots, or the five and the two, or the six and the solo.
Save for a rainy day, and rejoice in the thunderstorm. Sail into the sunset, but remember the sunblock and the life preserver. If nothing is ever final, then the shifting mosaics can be rearranged at will in the present to reflect the same reality in a reconfigured frame.

The ending is yesterday, this morning; the beginning is now. And now. And now. And now. Any point is a point of embarkation, every departure an entrance into commencement.
Watch. Listen. Act. Be. Embrace. Escape. Detach. Live.




reading a paean to rooftops
weather delicately cloudy

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

a photograph

What if people read the Northwest Suburbs News Register and found something beyond high school basketball scores? The secret life of the city, lions in kitchens waiting for dinner and the School Board devoted an entire year of high school to a Harry Potter intensive, to be followed by a vocational training year in acrobatics and daredevil tandem bicycling. That would be a news report.
The documents were emailed to the editor, three o'clock met, and time to trundle back to ... wherever. Wherever that wasn't here. Bourbon on the rocks was a good start.



reading photos
weather cycling season for we hobbyists who cannot abide current gas prices

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

nowhere, everywhere, anywhere


It happened. The drive over the bridge to the marina, the sharpness of the wind, the smallness of the boat, the stolen afternoon with a borrowed sailor, circling Alcatraz. The island beckoning, teasing, taunting. Private boats not allowed. No interest in the physical reality of the stone prison shadowing the first view of the city on the hill: simply a quiet certainty of the fragility of life on an island surrounded by guards and miles of death threatening water. There is no escape from Alcatraz, but here, in a boat, circling the island, is the detachment of a borrowed afternoon.


reading Gaskell, "Cranford"
weather lilacs! lilacs! lilacs!